I pray you, beseech me no more.

The girl I once was lives no longer; the woman I now am has been given a special mission by God, too sacred to be cast aside for aught that earth has to offer her of happiness.

We part in kindness, Monsieur,--in friendship even; but that which was once between us may never be again." There was no answer; even the reckless audacity of a courtier was silenced by that calm final dismissal.

It was Mademoiselle who spoke in swift whisper, her lips at my ear.
"Speak! who is she ?" "The woman of whom you have heard so often,--the missionary in the Indian camp." "Yes, I know," impatiently; "but I mean her name ?" "She calls herself Sister Celeste; I have indeed heard mention of another, but it abides not in my memory." "You deceive me, Monsieur; yet I know, and will speak with her," was the quick decision.

"Mother of God! 'tis a voice too dear ever to be forgotten." She was beside them with a step, seeming no doubt a most fair vision to be born so instantly of the night-shadows.
"Marie Faneuf!" she exclaimed, eagerly.